Another Time
by JCBS
Summary: Han and Leia have another close encounter aboard the Falcon. Pre-ESB.


Special thanks to Mermaid 32, justinegraham, Jedi of Grace, and erindarroch for your comments and suggestions. You made this story better than it would otherwise have been! Xoxo

A/N: This ficlet is a follow-up to my first story, _Still Here_. This takes place several weeks after the events in _Still Here_ but no prior knowledge of that fic is necessary for you to enjoy this one. Cheers!

 ** _Another Time_**

By JennyCBS

Leia Organa shaded her eyes with her hand as she scanned the hangar bay for Luke Skywalker. Two cups of caf had provided no relief from the incessant throbbing between her temples, so she'd temporarily abandoned her post in the Command Center to go in search of her friend. Leia secretly hoped she'd find Luke working on his X-wing on the far side of the bay, but was not surprised when she spotted him sitting on a crate near the _Millennium Falcon'_ s boarding ramp, fiddling with a hydrospanner.

As if he'd sensed her presence, Luke looked up and waved before she'd taken a step in his direction. The tension in her body eased a bit at Luke's warm greeting, and Leia gathered her resolve and marched toward him, despite her reservations about facing a certain spacer who was likely nearby.

Luke put down the hydrospanner and came to meet her. "Hey, Leia!" he greeted her cheerfully. As Leia drew closer, however, Luke's smile faded and his look grew worried. "You feeling ok?"

Luke's uncanny ability to sense her wellbeing—or lack thereof—should have unnerved Leia, but didn't.

"I can't seem to shake this headache today," she replied, touching one of the braids she'd done up around her head. "I actually came to see if you had any Comaren on hand."

"Comaren? No, sorry, not on me." Luke frowned. "Have you run out?"

Leia winced, reflecting on the number of times she'd exhausted her own supply of painkillers in the past year. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

Luke seemed to anticipate how much Leia dreaded requesting yet another refill. "Hey, I'm happy to run down to Medical and get you some," he offered.

"No, it's alright. I can see you're busy, Luke."

"It's no problem. Really."

Before she could protest again, Leia heard booted footfalls descending the boarding ramp.

"I got what you need, Princess," a familiar voice rumbled behind her.

Leia sucked in a breath and felt sudden heat color her neck and cheeks. She swiveled to find the captain of the _Millennium Falcon_ with his hands on his hips, eyeing her intently.

Immediately, her brain was flooded with memories from the night of their near-kiss more than a standard month ago: memories she'd tried desperately to suppress in the intervening weeks. That evening, she and Han Solo had been left alone, drinking and talking in the _Falcon's_ main hold, seated so close they were nearly touching. Until they were touching…

Leia recalled how the fog of alcohol had loosened her normally tight grip on her sensibilities that night, and how she'd used any excuse to get closer to Han, to see if he wanted to be closer to her… It had felt so natural, nestling in next to him as the night wore on. Her stomach flipped involuntarily as she recalled Han reaching out for her, pulling her close…

"Whatsa matter, Your Worship?" Han's intense gaze had turned playful. "Loth-cat got your tongue?" He seemed pleased at her sudden loss for words.

"Hardly," Leia replied, angry with her body's response to the smuggler's appearance.

"You need some Comaren?" Han continued. "Got plenty in my medkit."

"I…" Leia started, but was interrupted by a holler from across the hangar.

"Luke!" It was Wedge. "We're next up in the sim. You ready?"

"Sorry, guys. I gotta go." Luke patted Leia's arm affectionately. "Let Han help, and you'll feel better." He gave her a peck on the cheek before turning toward Wedge.

Han moved closer as Leia watched Luke scamper off in Wedge's direction.

"Come aboard, Princess." Han gestured grandiosely toward the boarding ramp. "Lemme get you those meds."

Leia hesitated. She hadn't set foot on the _Falcon_ since the night Han had shared his stash of Corellian whiskey with her, all those weeks ago. In fact, she'd hardly seen Han since, deliberately avoiding him and his ship at all costs.

 _Let Han help…_ Luke had said. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Han _was_ often helpful—kind, even—when he wasn't trying to rile her up. Leia decided that a few minutes aboard the _Falcon_ would be less painful than a trip to Medical.

"Alright," she allowed as she moved toward the ramp. "Let's see what you've got."

A few moments later, Leia was seated on the acceleration couch in the _Falcon's_ main hold. She drummed her fingers on the checkered surface of the dejarik table and waited with as much patience as the painful throbbing in her temples would allow. Her visit here was a reluctant one, she told herself. As soon as Han procured the promised painkillers, she'd return to her duties in the Command Center.

Leia took a deep breath and looked around the hold, determined to stay alert and not let her mind wander where it seemed determined to go: down memory lane. She did _not_ want to think about the last time she'd been seated in this very spot, she scolded herself. She would _not_ think about Han's arms around her, his lips millimeters from hers...

Leia shook her aching head at the recollection. She hadn't been intoxicated that night, but she'd drunk enough to let her inhibitions down. And while she'd felt in complete control of her body—moving closer to Han and leaning in to his embrace of her own free will—she'd felt out of control of her emotions.

In fact, her emotions—more specifically, her feelings toward Han—seemed to have run amok of late. It felt as though the harder she tried to tamp down on them, the stronger they became. Though her close encounter with Han had been brief, she couldn't seem to will herself to forget how _good_ it had felt to be held by him. When she was awake, Leia never allowed any ridiculous romantic notions regarding Han to occupy her thoughts for long. But asleep, her unconscious mind took over, and her recent dreams of Han had grown increasingly intimate. She'd awakened to practically _feel_ his arms around her more than once in the weeks since their near-kiss.

Leia recalled the dream that had startled her out of her sleep that very morning: Han had been holding her close, murmuring, "Mmm… Sweetheart," as he leaned down to nestle his nose in her hair. Leia's head had been resting against his chest, her arms linked around his waist, underneath his blue flight jacket. She'd felt his firm torso expand with each breath, as they stood wrapped in each other's arms.

Leia had sat bolt upright in bed, needing to catch her breath, when she'd realized with a pang of disappointment that it was only a dream. She hadn't been able to fall back asleep. While part of her had wanted to return to the dream and continue where it left off, her intellectual side had reminded her that shaking it off and putting Han Solo out of her mind for good was what was best. He would cause her nothing but heartache, and she'd already endured enough of that to last several lifetimes.

Han was leaving. No matter how Leia phrased her recruitment speech or tried to convince him how desperately his skills were needed by the Alliance, he wouldn't be swayed. She needed to accept him at his word, and move on. In her attempt to do just that, Leia had been keeping a respectful distance from Han. She hadn't once gone to visit him on the Falcon—hadn't even met his ship when he'd returned from a mission—in more than a standard month.

Yet here she was, aboard Han's ship once more, her pounding head powerless against the thoughts of him invading her mind.

"Here ya' go, Princess." Han's voice broke Leia's reverie. "Took me a while to find 'em." He looked at her expectantly as he placed the small pills and a glass of water on the dejarik table before her. "Cleared out the medbunk a couple a' weeks ago, looking for some bioadhesive for Chewie," he continued. "Big oaf wasn't watching where he was going with an armload of supplies, and cracked his head open on the cargo bay hatch. Wailed like a baby bantha, too. Can't stand the sight of his own blood."

Leia smiled despite the throbbing behind her eyes. "Thank you." She downed the meds and got up as if to leave, when Han put up a hand.

"Hold on there, Sweetheart. Those'll take a while to to kick in. Why don't you sit back down and let me get you a cup of that herbal stuff you like? Might help relieve some of the pressure until the meds are in full effect." He paused, his eyes softening. "Besides, you look like you could use the rest."

Tea sounded good, but Leia responded almost automatically, not wanting to bother Han any more than she already had. "I should go. There's a base relocation briefing shortly that I need to prepare for."

Han deliberated a beat, then placed his hands on his hips as he gave her his full attention. "Sweetheart, if I know you, you spent most of last night preparing." A smile played at his lips. "Gotta' take care of yourself so you can defeat the Empire, you know."

Leia rolled her eyes. Han was right, though. She had stayed up extra late reviewing and making notes for the meeting—not that she slept much most nights anyway—but that was a likely reason for her headache now. Admitting that she'd be worthless at any additional preparation until her headache subsided, she acquiesced and sat back down.

"Tea would be nice. Thank you."

Han snapped his fingers and turned on his heel. "Be right back, Princess. Don't move."

Leia leaned her body back against the couch while she waited for Han to return once more. The first time he'd offered her tea – on a joint mission to Fresia nearly a standard year ago – Leia had been surprised that Han stocked tea on board his ship at all. She'd figured him for an all-caf all-the-time kind of guy. But not only did Han stock tea, he also regularly steeped it for her, occasionally appearing with a piping thermajug when he knew she was pulling a late shift in the Command Center. Leia still marveled at Han's intermittent thoughtfulness. Why did he bother doing nice things for her, when half the time he seemed to thrill at making her angry, specifically at him?

Han was back with a cup of steaming tea and a tray of biscuits within minutes. "Didn't figure you'd eaten much today," he offered as he placed the biscuits and tea on the table before her.

"No, not much. Thank you."

Leia took a sip from her cup and was instantly hit by a wave of memories at the taste of it. "Han...this is Alderaani gingerbell tea."

"Is it?"

"I'd recognize it anywhere. Where did you find this?"

Han shrugged nonchalantly. "Picked it up at a vendor on our last run to Phindar. Took a wild guess at somethin' you'd like." He glanced up at her. "Got lucky, I s'pose."

Leia held Han's gaze until he blinked and looked away. Again she wondered at Han's generosity. She took another sip from her cup as Han made his way around the table and joined her on the acceleration couch.

"'S'it true we're heading to an ice-cube next?" Han asked as he settled in beside her.

Inexplicably, Leia felt her body temperature rise at Han's use of the word, _we_. She bit her lip to keep from pointing out his slip.

"Technically, that's still classified," she replied. "But, yes, the move's certain to be approved at today's briefing."

"Huh. Can't say I'm opposed to a cooler climate after this sauna." Han rubbed his hand across the scruffy stubble on his chin. "Chewie'll be happy to get outta this swamp. He's been sweatin' like a ronto in heat since we set up here. He'll smell better, too."

Leia concealed a smile. _So you'll be making the move with us, after all?_ she wanted to query. Why exactly she considered Han's continued employment with the Alliance to be a personal victory, she couldn't say.

"It'll certainly be a change," she remarked instead as she took another sip of tea and congratulated herself on not baiting Han.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and Leia appreciated the quiet. She focused on the flavor of her tea, hoping to will the pain from her head.

"How's the headache?" Han inquired at length.

Leia instinctively brought her fingers to her temples again.

"Still no relief?"

Leia closed her eyes and shook her head, continuing to rub at her temples. She heard Han clear his throat.

"Here. Lemme do that for you, Sweetheart."

Leia froze. What did he..?

"It's hard to relieve your own pain like that."

Han hadn't moved, but Leia felt his eyes boring into her. Her heart fluttered, and she momentarily forgot why she was here in the first place. Oh, yes, her throbbing head.

"Just shift over this way," Han urged, "So I can scoot up behind you. Reach around you more easily."

Leia caught her breath. Intellectually, she knew this was a bad idea, especially considering her recent dreams: the ones where she found herself in Han's bunk with him at her back, his arms wrapped around her small frame, pulling her tightly against his own firm body.

But her headache wasn't abating. If she didn't feel in such a fog, she'd never consider accepting. With the briefing looming, she was desperate to feel like her usual self. And she couldn't very well go back to her quarters to sleep it off; there was simply no time. She needed to be "on" in just over a standard hour. Perhaps allowing Han to rub her temples couldn't hurt. It would be for the good of the Rebellion. In order to defeat the Empire, like he said.

Without meeting Han's eyes—afraid of what she might reveal—Leia shifted her body to the side, facing away from him.

"Alright," she heard herself murmur. "Maybe just for a minute..."

She felt Han hesitate behind her, then sensed him shifting his own position, though he wasn't yet touching her. Leia closed her eyes, reminding herself that this was just a temple massage; nothing more. There could never _be_ anything more; Han was leaving any day now, if she was to believe his promises, base relocation or not. Leia ordered her heart to stop its wild beating, or surely Han would hear it, and reminded herself to _breathe_.

"Ok," Han mumbled. Was that his breath in her hair? "I'm just gonna move up behind you now."

Leia stomach flipped. She knew she should run, get up from this spot where he was going to _move up behind her_. But her limbs felt immobile. Much as she _knew_ she should keep her distance from Han—physically as well as emotionally—she also secretly craved his attention, which she would never admit to anyone, and barely did to herself.

Was it Han's attention, her desire for his touch, that made her body slide itself into position—in between his legs—with him at her back? Leia was no longer sure.

She felt Han reposition himself and move ever-so-slightly closer, his left leg wrapping loosely around her own, the slight friction generating heat that went straight up her thigh. Leia exhaled and leaned forward to rest her palms on her knees.

"You ready, Sweetheart?" Han asked, the low timbre of his voice so tantalizingly close to her ear that could feel his warm breath against her neck.

"Yes," she breathed, every nerve-ending in her body strung tight in anticipation of his touch.

"Relax, Leia. This'll help you, not hurt you."

Despite the jolt of electricity that shot through her at the sound of her name from Han's lips, Leia had not completed years of diplomatic training for nothing. She willed herself to breathe deeply. When Han's fingertips finally, _finally_ , brushed her temples, her breath hitched, but only for a beat. Han must have been as affected as she, because Leia felt him stiffen for a moment before his work-roughened fingertips began rubbing gentle circles near her hairline.

For an eternity, Leia simply existed. She inhaled, exhaled, and focused on the gentle pressure from the pads of Han's fingers on her skin. She lost track of time and space, feeling more and more relaxed with each press of his fingertips.

At length, Han's thumbs seemed to slip, to fall behind her ears, into her hair. Her skin felt suddenly inflamed, yet erupted in goosebumps. Han's fingers were no longer rubbing her temples. They were pulling a strand of hair behind her ear, now moving down her neck, resting on her shoulders. Leia found she couldn't breathe.

Her stomach was in knots, nevermind her headache. She felt Han's breath on her neck, but dared not move. When his fingertips swept across the exposed skin between the collar of her blouse and her hairline, Leia suppressed a whimper. She heard Han muffle a cough, but he didn't remove his hands. They were so warm, sending rays of heat through her body.

She needed to stop Han, she told herself. Needed him to take his hands off her body, her bare skin. Needed to turn around and back away. But she was frozen, unable to even speak.

Han was massaging her neck now. His thumbs were beneath her collar, his long fingers smoothing the skin along her neckline. Leia's head dropped to one side. Han's fingers ceased their motion, but still, he did not remove them from her body.

"Feeling better, Sweetheart?" Han's voice rumbled dangerously close to her ear again.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, pleased that she was able to find her voice after all.

Han resumed his gentle caresses across her neck and scalp. Leia remained still, not daring to open her eyes, her body completely at ease. Han must have thought she'd fallen asleep, for a minute or two later, she heard him breathe her name: "Leia…"

When she felt his lips graze her temple—the same one he'd massaged, then caressed—her heart nearly burst. "Leia," he whispered again.

Though she didn't want to move; didn't want this moment to end—ever—Leia straightened. She felt Han's hands slowly—ever so slowly—move from her shoulders, down her arms. As she turned her body toward him, he took her hand in both of his. Han's eyes were so intent upon hers when she looked up that Leia was afraid to blink. For an eternal moment, he scanned her face. He glanced down at her lips, then met her eyes again, before leaning in ever so slightly. Leia's heart pounded in anticipation; nevermind what she'd told herself earlier about getting involved with Han Solo. But at the last moment, Han seemed to change his mind. He leaned back instead, and brought her hand to his lips; his eyes—full of longing and...regret?— never leaving hers. When his lips brushed the back of her hand, he closed his eyes and let his lips linger.

Still holding her hand in his, he finally spoke, without looking up. "Better get you to that meeting of yours, Princess."

Leia couldn't speak, couldn't take her eyes off their joined hands. She simply nodded her affirmation and blinked rapidly as Han placed her hand back in her own lap, then pulled away.


End file.
